


The Really Old Condom From The Back Of The Drawer

by kleine_aster



Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Discussion of Abortion, M/M, Mpreg, Omega Verse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-21
Updated: 2013-11-21
Packaged: 2018-01-02 07:15:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1054000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kleine_aster/pseuds/kleine_aster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My foray into mpreg, featuring Alpha!Dick and Omega!Bruce, along with some trademark shouting. The working title for it was “This Is Terrible”.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Really Old Condom From The Back Of The Drawer

**Author's Note:**

> **Warnings:** Alpha/Omega dynamics (sorta). Mpreg. Contains a discussion on abortion.
> 
>  **Notes:** There’s parts of this I don’t like, and parts that I like a lot. But the like was ultimately stronger, so I’m putting this out.  >.>
> 
> I used the idea of Omega!Bruce posing as an Alpha, inspired by [LSR](http://archiveofourown.org/users/LSR/pseuds/LSR)'s lovely A/B/O series. Thanks so much!

"So, let me get this straight. You’ve had sex, what,  _twice_  in the last sixteen years? And you got knocked up  _both times_?”

"…"

"…"

"That’s a gross exaggeration. I had sex easily a  _dozen_ times in the last sixteen years, and …”

"And?"

"… and yes, this has happened twice. The rate is  _not_  that high.” He slams his screwdriver in between the two plates of metal with more force than the task requires. “I’m not an incubator, or a pasture in Ireland.”

 

"So," Superman raises his big hand to go in for a high-five, then smoothly runs it through his hair when the gesture is met with a look of disgust. "Should I say _congrats_ , or …”

Bruce appraises him with a cold glare. “What about me suggested I would high-five you because I got pregnant.” He pauses. “What about me suggested I would high-five you, period.”

"Fine, no congratulations. Yikes." His alien friend blinks. Superman loves babies, but then, he gets to hold them for short periods of time and then give them back, which is the lowest difficulty setting on babies. Bruce scowls, and continues brutalizing the Justice One’s hull until the plate comes off.

Clark catches it out of the air. “Who’s the other dad?” He asks, because of course he does.

"I’m not willing to disclose that at this time."

"So Nightwing, huh."

Bruce wants to spin around and stab his obnoxiously astute friend repeatedly with his screwdriver (which would be fine, since his skin is impenetrable) while roaring  _"How? HOW?!",_  but he forces his face to go smooth. “Why would you think that?”

"Bruce, come on. It’s me." The Man Of Steel fiddles with the large piece of metal in his hands. "I mean, you’ve always been, ah, a little  _one-tracked_  in that regard.”

Bruce snorts and sticks his head into the plane’s open belly to examine the wiring, and to keep Clark from seeing his flushed face. Sure, he might have tossed Dick’s spare clothes onto his old bed in the Manor and then rolled around in them a couple times; a desperate habit that he’d cultivated ever since his former protégé had left the house for good, and missing him had become a physical ordeal. But Superman has no way of knowing that.

He’s ready with the next question, regardless. “What did he say? I mean … whoever it is we’re talking about,” he hurries to add, but Bruce hears the smile in his voice and knows he’s picturing the look on Nightwing’s face, specifically.

"Does it matter," he grumbles.

"Well … to  _him_ , I’m sure. To  _you_ , maybe.”

"… he doesn’t know."

"Bruce." Superman’s noble voice sounds like daytime television, and Bruce wants to conk him with his engineering equipment again. "You should probably let him know, don’t you think?"

"There’s the problem."

"Are you sure about that? I mean, yes, it’s going to be a bit of a shock, bu –"

"With the  _wiring_.” He fishes the wire cutter from his belt. “I’ll need your laser eyes in a second. Stand by.”

Superman hovers, watching him dangling from the suspended rope 230 feet above the ground, rewiring the electronics. He crosses his arms in concern. “By the way, should you really be doing this, I mean -“

"Don’t start with me, Kent."

And he wonders why he doesn’t tell  _him_.

Clark opens his mouth, perhaps to protest, but then he looks down at his feet with a little smirk.

"Laser this," Bruce barks. "Be precise."

"Always."

He can’t blame him, Bruce figures, he can’t blame Clark for reacting predictably. He’s invited it by confiding in him, Clark being one of the few people to know his secret – his  _other_  secret. The fact that he’s even equipped to have children. Ever since he’d embarked on his mission, at a very tender age, he’d made sure that nobody would ever perceive him as anything but Alpha. It was difficult, but not impossible, especially not for an extremely wealthy chemistry nut with an unbendable will and a proclivity to suppress his desires. In his mind, he’s passed the ultimate test – having two successive Alphas and one Beta male live in his house, making them  _listen_  to him, even, without them ever picking up his scent. (This had, however, not been the reason he took them in; he took them because he’d cared. The power plays and the painful yearnings had only been an unwanted side-effect.) Over the years, he’d only become better and better at maintaining his deception. Not even his own biological son knows. Damian, who still thinks he’d been bred in a tube. (Bruce sometimes feels bad about it, but it doesn’t seem to affect the boy’s king-sized confidence, so he lets him believe it.) Nobody knows, except for Damian’s father, who has enough secrets of his own to bother meddling with his, Alfred, whom Bruce trusts completely, and Superman, whose Kryptonian nose is impossible to fool (and whom, if he’s honest, he also trusts completely).

And now …

There’s another person who knows. Someone who’s also always had his trust, but was never supposed to find out, anyway. To avoid  _complications_.

So Dick knows. Ever since the intricate chemical tubing inside Bruce’s heavy body armor had stupidly fizzled out right when they were doing repairs in a collapsed area of the Batcave, where there was no easy way to turn back. It wasn’t like Bruce to slip up like that; he wonders if his own biological disposition had played a trick on him to allow for it to happen.

He’d never forget the look on Dick’s face when he’d first picked up on it; that wide-eyed, hungry stare, as if someone had just put the world’s most delicious, freshly baked pie into a window; only the non-Norman Mailer, non-family friendly version of that. And then, his face had turned to stone when he’d realized where it came from.

What had followed had been a hideous argument about trust and honesty, their bellowing voices ringing from the cave walls. Dick didn’t  _understand_ , he didn’t understand that Bruce cannot be Batman and Omega at the same time, that it doesn’t mesh, he doesn’t get the  _intricacies_  of it, how could he, he was  _born_ Alpha. He didn’t understand how hard it was for his seasoned mentor not to cower and grovel facing his anger and hurt all of a sudden, now that he’s not backed by a chemical bomb anymore.

They’d run out of words. There’d been loaded silence, then  _intrigue_ , and then Dick had opened the damn flood gate with his stupid, tender, counter-intuitive declarations of loyalty.

 _Your secret’s safe with me_ , he says.  _I’d never betray your trust, you know that. How could you not know that._

_…_

_And if you, I mean, ever need someone to –_

_…_

_Boy, I think you really do._

_…_

_Okay, it’s getting REALLY hard for me to concentrate, Bruce –_

And that was that.

And now they’re screwed. Literally.

"Hey, you know," Clark quietly tells him, as they both touch ground after he’s welded the plane’s hull shut again, "It doesn’t have to be so bad. You’re wealthy, you’re both good, smart people, and look, Damian’s turned out great … in his own, special way …"

"Are you insulting my son," Bruce growls, wiping motor oil off his hands.

"No! That’s not what I meant. But," Superman is beaming at him, and Bruce realizes with horror that he’s entertaining the idea of being an uncle. "It’s going to be a little unusual, but what isn’t…" His voice becomes muffled when the oily rag lands in his face.

"You’re a dope, Clark," Bruce says, before stomping out of the hangar. "Thanks for listening."

"Keep me posted!" Superman chirps before the sliding door hisses shut.

—-

It’s the first three seconds of Dick’s reaction that give him pause.

Dick is smart, always has been, but the moment he hears it, an expression of pure, dumb, boyish pride and excitement flashes across his face and his voice goes up instead of down (as it usually does now when they talk), when he almost yips, “REALLY?!”

And  _then_  he becomes serious, and  _then_  he starts looking concerned. And tries his best to look earnest when he asks, “So, what should we do?”

"What do you mean, ‘ _we’_?”

"What do you mean ‘ _what do I mean, we’_?”

Bruce stirs his tea. He’s determined to navigate this talk with a clear head, but now Dick’s big dumb smile is stuck in his mind like a record on repeat.

He raises the mug to his lips. “I’m thinking of getting a procedure.”

He freezes with the mug in mid-air, frowning at himself. What’s he doing? He came here to declare,  _"I’m getting a procedure"_ , not that he’s  _thinking_  about it. But then Dick had to go and  _REALLY?!_  him.

Dick’s hand seems to shake when he puts his mug down, hard, resulting in a hideous clank and some spilling. “Oh.”

Bruce sneaks a look at him. The young man’s full lips seem thin, the line above his bright blue eyes looks hard. “Dick, are you  _disappointed!_?” He snarls. It’s meant to sound incredulous, but when it comes out, it comes out sounding worried, and he hates it.

"No idea." His former partner pinches the bridge of his nose. "I’ve known for a _minute_ , Bruce, hang on.”

Bruce watches him work through it for a moment. “Well,” he finally says, a little helplessly. “What did you expect?”

"Nothing." Now it’s Dick who smoothes his face over to show no emotion, but Bruce can sense that he’s down about something. "I expect nothing. That’s what we agreed on, right? No obligations, no expectations, strictly fun. Instinct. I get it."

"But?"

"But …" Dick leans on the counter and gazes at him, as if he’s contemplating him, as a whole. Bruce is looming by the windows, putting a reasonable distance between them, which is for the better. Dick is strong and handsome and he is _good_ , and an archaic part of his brain keeps blaring at him how nice it would be if he came over now to put his warm hands around him an breathe a good-smelling kiss on his skin, but that hardly seems productive.

The eyes he’s making at him accelerate his pulse.

"You know, for a second?" Dick shoots him that fearless smile that immediately makes his loins want to explode, "Picturing you and me, going through with it? It seemed … I dunno. It seemed kinda cool."

"Cool." Bruce snorts. "I’d have to upend my entire life.  _You’d_  have to upend your entire life. I’ll go through emotional and physical changes you can’t even _begin_  to anticipate. I’d be out of commission for four months, at least. And then I’d bring a new  _life_ into the world.  _This_  world. And you think it’d be  _kinda cool_.”

Dick looks as if he’s listening, but when Bruce ends, he furrows his brow and says with authority, “Wouldn’t you be out of commission for far longer than four months? That seems unreasonably short – “

Bruce groans. “You’re already doing it.”

The Alpha throws his hands in the air. “Doing  _what_?!”

Bruce growls at him and glares at the window.

Dick has no idea how it is. Bruce has gone through the whole spiel with Damian, he shudders thinking about going through it again (not that he ever regretted having him, once he was there, but still). The holing in, the hiding from the public eye, the “polo accident”-ruse and the “shacked up in the Alps with a secret lover”-bluff. Making excuses for Batman is even worse; “fell through a crack in the space/time continuum” has served him well the last time, but he can hardly use  _that_  again. Besides, he would want to keep supporting his allies remotely at least. He’d have to get the intercom to shoot him only from the neck up for months, and explain to everyone who dared to ask why his face looked so puffy (he’s thinking virus infection, something extremely contagious that would also cover for his absence and _now he’s considering it dammit_ ). Not to mention that he’d try to stay in the field for as long as possible before it showed, which he knows from experience is hard to do while his instincts are screaming at him to be careful because  _the baby_.

And then, of course, by the end of it, there’d be  _the baby_.

And that’d throw it  _all_  out of balance.

And if Dick really wants to play father (which surprises and oddly moves him, to be honest, though it’s most likely a spur-of-the-moment reaction), that only complicates things further. They’re not mates, they’re not  _together_. That has been clear from the start. Bruce doesn’t do that. He has got to admit that it’s been nice, freeing, to be with someone he actually  _loved_ liked. More than freeing, it has been ecstasy. To be … open and needy with someone who responded to his urges, and responded in kind. He’d barely had a chance to reveal that side of him to anyone before, since he kept his true nature firmly under wraps and unfortunately for him, not very many Alphas decided to go into sex work (Bruce knows all who do, though, on a very intimate basis). With Dick, it had felt real, and exciting, and safe at the same time. However, if he’d wanted to  _keep_  it safe, he thinks sourly, they probably shouldn’t have perused that really old condom from the back of the drawer. But they’d both been too horny to give it enough thought.

"It was that really old condom from the back of the drawer, wasn’t it," Dick now comments with a sheepish look on his face.

Bruce sighs.

"Hey," and now he does it, he’s coming over. Bruce huffs through his nose and straightens his shoulders, bracing himself for the hormonal assault he’s about to experience. Dick puts his arm around his waist, almost delicately (which – irrational), and makes as if he gazes out the window with him, which can’t be too interesting since the blinds are down. Then he turns, parking his chin on his shoulder. Bruce feels his nose rub against his cheek, and the sensation of his soft, fragrant dark hair tickling his skin.

"Tell me something?"

"What?"

Dick’s voice is amused and affectionate, as if Bruce is  _adorable_ , and he has a hard time processing that. “Do you even know,” he purrs, “That you’ve  _asked_  me to put a baby in you before?”

Bruce goes through a short rage spasm at that, while his body communicates that Dick’s proximity feels so, so good. “I  _most certainly_  did not,” he barks.

"Oh  _yea_ you did.” Dick replies, voice guttural and teasing. “More than once, actually. When we’re together, and you’re really getting up there, and you start losing it? You say you want to bear my children. It’s … not really something I expected, but it’s, it’s sweet.” Dick’s face is getting flushed, and the shape of his smile feels good and warm against Bruce’s skin. “You can check that security footage  _I_   _know_  you’ve kept. Should be on there -“

Bruce groans internally. Yes, that  _does_  sound like something his lizard brain would say.

Dick stops smiling and starts looking flustered when Bruce wrestles away from him with a tight-lipped glare. “Oh, come on. That doesn’t mean I did it on _purpose_! I admit, I dug hearing you say it, but I’d  _never_  pull that. That condom thing was vintage stupidity, you know that, right?”

Bruce huffs, and nods. Yes. He knows. He’d been stupid, too.

So, so stupid.

Dick scratches his neck. “Look, it’s your choice either way. But if you, uh. If you want me to step up to the plate,” he says, sounding almost comically formal, but very delicately so, “I’d be up for it.”

Bruce wishes he wasn’t so tuned into Dick’s physical reactions now that he’s shared his bed with him. Because he can practically  _feel_  the younger man’s heart bouncing when he says that, and it affects him, despite the corny baseball metaphor. He sounds very real as he says it, which drives Bruce even deeper into defense.

"Your sense of duty was never in question," he says brusquely, rebuffing his gentle show of affection as he’s done so many times before.

"My sense of  _duty_.” Dick frowns. Bruce sees the sense of hurt bewilderment on his face, and it puts a chink in his heart. “This is not about  _duty_  for me, Bruce.”

"You don’t even like living in one  _apartment_  at a time,” the older man gruffly reminds him. He doesn’t really feel like talking to him this way, but now he’s gone down this road, and he has to pursue it. “And now you’re telling me you want to do  _this_?”

Dick’s fingers squeeze him. It’s not possessive, but emphatic nonetheless. “I don’t mind being with one  _man_  at a time. And I told you so, right from the start.”

"You’ve never tried to – never tried to make me  _yours_.” Bruce frowns with distaste at his own wording.

"Because you didn’t  _want_  me to!” Dick’s temper flares up. He lets go of Bruce’s hand, shooting him a wounded, knowing glare, before he grows quieter again. “You’re not the only one who can stomp out his urges, you know.”

That admission, paired with the brief show of passion, goes right into Bruce’s bloodstream. And for a quick, irreverent moment, he imagines how sweet and relieving it would be to feel Dick’s weight and warmth on top of him now, with his handsome, hard cock driving into him, making them both forget. But he knows it goes further than that base need. He’s not even that easily aroused in his current state. It’s about a desire to feel Dick close to him, being held by him, and it’s all getting too much.

He exhales sharply, hoping to drive these thoughts out with the air. “I don’t want to tie you down. Think about it. If my science hadn’t failed, you wouldn’t even have known –”

"Don’t."

Dick sounds stern, but Bruce can tell how he struggles not to use his Alpha voice with him. Despite having grown into an excellent leader, he’d never been very comfortable manipulating people, much unlike his mentor. But it’s obvious how upset he is. “ _Don’t_ put this on me. You can do what you want, obviously, but don’t do this, don’t say it’s for  _me_.”

His handsome face grows even more flushed when Bruce responds with nothing more than a grim stare, and it’s not excitement this time. He throws his hands up again, which is a surefire sign that he’s successfully been driven up the wall. “If you care so little about what I have to say, why did you even come talking to me…?”

"Good question."

Bruce looks at him. He thinks of how much he loves him, and how he’ll always love him, and then does what he always does, he says the wrongest thing possible and beats a fast retreat.

He turns away from the window, and from their conversation. “You’re right. I shouldn’t have come here. I did it out of courtesy and out of respect, but I realize now that it only complicates matters. It’s my responsibility, and mine alone.”

"Bruce!"

The  _Come back here!_  is implied, but Dick is still refusing to play the Alpha card. “Don’t …  _respect_  me,” he yells instead, and Bruce can practically hear the air quotes around  _respect_ , because Dick has always been sharp. It makes him squirm with regret.

"This was a mistake," he mumbles, not even sure which part of this  disaster he’s addressing. The way toward the front door seems endless, and the task of leaving Dick behind irrationally taxing.

"You always do this!" He hears him declare, with which he’s correct. "This is what you always do when things get too real for you! You climb right onto your … your lone, dark horse and  _ride_   _off_!” 

"Damn right, and that’s how it’s always going to be," Bruce hisses over his shoulder. "And you really want to tell me you want  _more_  of this?”

"I don’t know!" Dick snaps behind him. "But you never know these things until you’ve tried them! You know who said that to me?  _You._ ”

"You’re difficult to talk to."

"Yeah? Well, you’re a … perplexing, paradoxical  _prick_!”

Bruce spins around at that, hand almost on the door handle. “What are you going to do, Nightwing,  _stop me_?!”

Turning around to face Dick has been a mistake. When the young man flaps his arms this time, he looks achingly helpless, and Bruce wants to rush over and embrace him, which he of course ends up  _not_ doing.

"Well, no!" Dick’s, face is still dark with anger. He pokes his finger at Bruce, which is usually his finishing move. "Because …" He takes a deep breath. " _Because I think you’re a wonderful man, and I will not interfere with your right to do what you want with your body!_ ”

“ _THANK_  YOU.”

"YOU’RE  _WELCOME_.”

When Bruce walks out, he can hear Dick inside kicking over a trash can.

—-

They leave each other alone for a few days. At least where talking is concerned. But Batman notices that Nightwing redoubles his efforts to keep an eye on him during patrol. He’s still out there chasing his own rogues, but ever so often, Bruce spots his slender, graceful silhouette in the sky behind him, or next to him, or above him, making sure that he’s safe. He tries to be offended. He tries to ignore the warm feeling he gets in the pit of his stomach when he realizes he’s being watched over. He tries to ignore that soft, quivery part of him that responds to Dick’s protective behavior. He doesn’t  _need_  it. He of all people doesn’t need it. 

Besides, he’s getting worried about his former protégés sleeping patterns. He can’t be getting a lot of rest this way. A sleep-deprived vigilante is an endangered vigilante, and therefore Bruce finds himself returning that protectiveness in kind. And nobody is getting any sleep.

When he occasionally does go to bed, he falls asleep with his hand cradling his belly, as if he tries to shield something in there. It irritates him at first, but he realizes he sleeps better this way. At one occasion, while Alfred and Damian aren’t looking, he abuses his face recognition program to calculate what Dick’s and his offspring would look like. He thinks all the results to be devastatingly beautiful. He isn’t even sure if they really are, objectively, but he can’t help it. He stares at the images for far too long, then he cringes, and hits ‘delete’.

It goes on like this until the end of the week, when he finally corners Nightwing on a misty rooftop, to … talk to him, presumably. What he really ends up doing his pressing his shivering body against him, and the only words falling from his lips are “Can we…?”

He hears Dick breathe out a ragged sigh – exasperated, but relieved as well – and then he’s hit by the feel and  _smell_  of him when he turns around and returns the gesture, and whispers against his mouth, “Yes.”

They rush to one of the safe houses cluttering the city, toss their clothes and weapons all over the floor, fall on the bed and fu – no,  _make love_. And they’re as good as they always are, Bruce cupping Dick’s face, praising him, begging for him, and Dick gently nuzzling him back while he pours sweet, enthusiastic sincerities into his ear. Once they’re sated, they roll onto their backs as if they’re half dead, bodies heavy with much-needed release. Dick’s head is resting on Bruce’s arm, but his weight feels welcome.

The younger man yawns, eyes closed. “Mm. I could sleep like this,” he mutters, which is probably true, but also signaling Bruce that he doesn’t want to fight.

"Then do," he invites him, pressing a kiss into his damp, scented hair. But the fact that the older man most likely will be gone once Dick wakes up is implied.

Despite his announcement, Dick doesn’t sleep, even though Bruce can feel in his every limb how tired he is.

"Made up your mind yet," he finally asks, blinking at the ceiling.

Bruce ponderously follows his gaze, staring up without purpose for a moment. The time for a termination is slowly running out. It’s not too late yet, but Bruce is rarely this indecisive; it means something.

He’s slowly losing feeling in his right arm, so he tugs Dick closer until his head is nestled against his chest instead. Dick lets it happen, and gives him a small peck on his biceps, despite the fact that Bruce hasn’t even begun to answer his question.

The words come heavily, but they don’t feel uncomfortable to say. “When I had Damian …”

He can see Dick perk up with curiosity. Bruce rarely talks about that time, not even to the ones in the know.

"I felt … humiliated. Ashamed. And –" He winces. "Vulnerable. Taking you in, Jason, and Tim … that was dangerous enough, but you were boys on the verge of becoming men. But giving  _birth_ , nursing an  _infant_  - it wasn’t what I envisioned my life to be. But when I look at him now –”

He sighs, and smiles in the dark, almost despite himself. “I couldn’t feel shame if I tried. I don’t regret a single thing. I’m … proud.”

"You should be, he’s pretty rad," Dick replies, and Bruce’s smile widens when he’s reminded that Dick is Damian’s number one fan. He does love kids. And he’s good with them. Granted, Nightwing’s primary experience with kids is saving them from peril and then handing them back to their terrified parents, but … in a way, that’s not the  _worst_  quality in a father.

Dick clears his throat. “We could do it together this time,” he offers. Sounding almost a little shy, which is unexpected and charming in someone as brash as he is. His fingers reach out for Bruce’s, and the older man wraps his big hand around them. In this bed, in the dark, he’s finally ready to stop pretending he isn’t considering it anymore.

"Having a child between you and me," he says, shuddering at getting those words out, "With the life we lead, it means creating another soft target. You know that."

Dick’s face turns somber, and Bruce is grateful to see him take it very seriously. He’s known loss, and much like Bruce, he’s not likely to underestimate it. They’re both never more afraid than when they’re afraid for the people around them.

The young man thinks about it, but then his smile returns, as boldly as ever. “I’m not gonna say you’re wrong, Bruce, ‘cause you’re not. But between a big, bad, scary Bat and an acrobat who can choke people with his thighs, I think our kid might have a good shot –” He pauses abruptly, blood rushes into his cheeks, and Bruce realizes he’s marveling at the feeling of saying  _our kid_. His excitement seems palpable. He’s breathing fast. But he’s still cautious, waiting for his former mentor to make the final call.

He doesn’t know that the scale has already been tipped. But Bruce is cautious, as well. He faces away from him to look at the ceiling again.

"There’s no telling if it’ll last," he says. "Between us." The words bring some of his deepest, most ignored fears into sharp focus, and it’s hard to keep a neutral expression.

He doesn’t have to look to see Dick’s face fall at this new rebuffal. He really  _is_  a pretty remarkable Alpha. A lesser one would be either screaming in his ear by now, or be long gone to pursue more compliant partners. Bruce, as Batman, has been at the site of too many hideous domestic disputes not to know. But what Dick says next reminds him that it’s always wrong to underestimate his resolve, or his insight.

Dick sits up in bed. “Remember the first time we partnered up?  _That_  didn’t last. Yet here we are.”

It’s such a good point that Bruce doesn’t even bother telling him “good point”. He really … he really isn’t the warmest Omega, or boyfriend, or partner … but he can feel his reluctance melt away under Dick’s gaze, anyway.

He squeezes the young man’s fingers. “It’d mean more lies,” he sighs. “ _So many_ lies.”

Beside him, Dick snorts. “You mean, coming up with excuses to cover up our double lives? Yeah, I  _can’t_  imagine that’d go well. We have virtually  _no_ experience doing that –”

"Double life, Dick?" Bruce grumbles at him. "Try  _triple_  life.”

Dick chuckles at that, but then he turns serious again. “You could always, y’know, consider coming out,” he says softly, blue eyes glinting with curiosity. “Look at you – d’you really think anyone would think less of you? You’re still _you_. And besides, things aren’t like that anymore. Take Damian, he’s Omega, and you’ve  _seen_ what he does with fools who think they can mess with him. Who’d dare disrespecting you?” Dick pauses, crinkling his nose. “Well, okay. Obviously, the Joker will come up with a plan to make you have his child _immediately_. But we can thwart him, we’ve done it before. And I know how much you love punching him.” 

Bruce doesn’t reply. But he feels another smile tug at the corners of his mouth, and Dick probably sees it, too. He hopefully doesn’t see the shimmer in his eyes when a surge of emotion wells up in him as he realizes how much he loves him, how he never feels as safe and real and  _known_  as when he’s with him.

Dick seems to take his silence for reluctance, and talks on, cluelessly. “I mean, think about how much time you’d suddenly have if you didn’t have to pretend to be Alpha anymore. Though, I guess, having a baby would mean  _less_  time, but either way, I - “

"Dick, stop."

His former partner falls silent, not so much from his words, more from the firm squeeze of his hand.

"I’m not ready," Bruce tells him. "I’m not ready to let that go. Let’s …"

He caresses his hand, drawing small circles on Dick’s skin with his callused thumb, and lets out one last sigh. “Let’s take it one giant life-altering decision at a time.”

If Dick has been breathing fast before, now he stops breathing altogether. He stares at him, dumbstruck, with large round eyes, until Bruce almost grows concerned. But then, Dick finds his voice again.

"Does that mean – You – We – "

"Yes."

"Are you really sure?"

"Yes."

And then he does it, Dick lets out that happy  _yip_  that must’ve been lodged inside him ever since he’d first heard, and he tackles the older, bigger man to the mattress, wrapping him in his arms. Bruce thinks he might kiss him, but instead, Dick simply buries his face against his cheek in a raw show of affection, and it’s just as good. At least until Bruce pulls him up to kiss his lips.

They lie entangled for a while. The air around them seems less heavy than before, but it’s nonetheless filled with …  _something_. Perhaps potential. Or panic. It could very well be panic.

"Aren’t you even the least bit concerned?" Bruce wonders. He’s been wondering that from the start.

"I’m terrified," Dick says wholeheartedly. But he’s grinning, and Bruce is reminded how much they both thrive under stress. Seek it. Love it. Maybe that’s why they’re still together, in here where things are  _complicated_.

Bruce feels himself relax against his scarred shoulder, rubs his face against him, and when that softness, that  _weakness_  starts seeping in, he doesn’t fight it.

He doesn’t fight his dark voice sounding mildly needy and whiny when he admits, “I don’t want you to see me when I’m – “

He frowns, making a gesture indicating his belly growing to twice its size.

"Oh, c’mon!"

His crude pantomime makes Dick’s eyes shine for some reason. He gets up on his knees in his eagerness. “You sure? ‘cause you’d be missing out on this!” He gestures back at him, doing something odd with his fingers that Bruce can’t quite interpret.

Bruce blinks at him. “What is that. What are you trying to tell me.”

Dick lowers his hands, defeated. “Back rubs!” He blurts out. “I’d give you so many back rubs!”

Bruce can’t help but smile at that. Bantering with Dick feels good, always has. It brings levity to the most dire of situations, and Bruce is starting to think that in this case, it might actually not be that dire, after all. He clicks his tongue. “I’ll hardly need you for that,” he teases. “Alfred’s back rubs are  _exceptional_.”

Dick cocks his brow at him. “True, but does he give them naked? ‘cause I don’t think he does, and I don’t think you want him to.”

Bruce crosses his arms, but fails at looking as serious as he’d liked. “I might let you see me, but if you think you’re going to see me  _naked_  during that time, you’re extremely mistaken.”

He dodges the pillow that flies his way. “You’re so vain.” A pause. Then, softer: “I bet you’ll look beautiful.”

Bruce tries to ignore the blood accumulating in his face. When he’d had Damian, he’d spent months holed up in his bedroom, huddled over his computer with a steaming bowl of soup and a back ache, all unwashed hair, red eyes and sore feet, and he can’t even fathom someone telling him he’s  _beautiful_  in that state.

But it sounds … appealing.

"We’ll see," he grumbles. But then he opens his arms again, offering Dick a place in them, and the other man takes it.

He’s almost asleep when he hears a soft, “Hey.”

"Nhn," he replies.

"Bruce, can I …" Dick sounds drowsy. And vaguely bashful. "Can I put my hand on your belly?"

"Dick, it’s the third week. There’s virtually no difference to before."

"I know."

"… but sure. Go ahead."

He closes his eyes again and feels a shy, warm hand get delicately placed on his skin. A strange feeling of contentment comes over him once it’s there, and he’s already drifting off by the time Dick lets his head follow, and peacefully falls asleep curled up against his stomach.

—-

"Twins?! You mean, there’ll be  _two_?”

"Yes. That’s what  _twins_  means.”

Bruce looks up sternly at his now live-in partner, unsure if he should laugh, or cry, or kick something unrelated.

Dick takes an elegant dive from the first floor balustrade, flips, and lands on his feet in front of him, because he’s a show-off. But he does it so he can take his hands.

"That sounds  _horrifying_ ,” he says, wearing the world’s widest grin.

Bruce huffs through his nose in confirmation, but he’s smirking wryly. He can’t even pretend to be particularly upset. Once his mind has settled on undergoing a challenge, it’d take a whole city exploding to discourage him. He takes the younger man’s face in his hands and drags his still-smiling lips against his mouth.

"Don’t worry, Grayson, I’ve got you covered," Damian drawls casually as he strolls past them, fingers flying across his smartphone. "I took a picture of the look on his face when he pulled up the results. I’m sending it to you right now."

Damian and Bruce are not on good terms right now, ever since they’ve let him in on the secret, and Damian had realized he’d been lied to all those years. He does take it remarkably well, however, even if he insists to communicate with his father through Dick and Alfred at the moment. But he does at least seem to be pleased about having Dick live back at the Manor, and he hasn’t stopped proudly talking about “his upcoming responsibilities as an older brother” ever since he’d heard. Bruce hopes that time might heal the hurt he’s dealt to the boy. After all, Damian loves lingering whenever Bruce undergoes a check-up, which he of course performs in his own lab, on himself, because he trusts no-one else with his body. Though Alfred and Dick have convinced him to let Leslie take a look once a month.

There’s still a multitude of open questions, however. Bruce and Dick have talked many times (without yelling, fantastically enough), and have concluded that ultimately, they want to be fathers publically, too, which means that Bruce is going to make a couple very awkward announcements to a couple people soon. He’s slowly bracing himself for it; but he has made his peace with it. Bruce Wayne coming out doesn’t mean that Batman has to. In a way, Bruce being Omega and Batman being Alpha seems brilliant; he’s slightly disgruntled he hasn’t thought about it before. And with Dick around as mate and proud originator of his offspring, he’d actually have to flirt  _less_  at parties than he used to. But it’s more than convenience. Bruce simply couldn’t bring himself to deny Dick the joys of running around with his kid (or … kids) on his shoulders without having to deal with a web of lies. Bruce has done it for decades, he knows what it takes out of a person.

It’ll be very complicated, without a doubt. But for now, pressing his face against Dick’s as they hold hands in the hallway seems soothing and easy enough. That is, until they’re interrupted by a booming voice.

"It’s TWINS?!"

Clark Kent, who among other things has super hearing, comes barging in holding a pommel horse in each hand, face glowing with excitement. Clark has been rallying hard to become a godfather and/or favorite future uncle, for instance by serving as Dick’s one-man moving crew.

"It’s … there’ll be two?!"

"Why does nobody here know what  _twins_  are,” Bruce mutters, then frowns at the load Clark is carrying. “ _More_  pommel horses? Dick, how many pommel horses do you own? You are aware that I have perfectly fine pommel horses in storage?”

His mate shrugs sheepishly. “I really love pommel horses,” he professes. “It’s … the memories …”

Bruce sighs. Well. It’s not as if his home  _doesn’t_  have rooms in the double digits. And besides, Dick  _does_  look great exercising on a pommel horse.

"Where do you want these?" Clark asks, balancing them as if they were made out of paper.

"Uh, first floor, second room on the left, where the –" Dick shoots Bruce a quick, guilty look. "Where the others are. Thanks, Clark. I’ll go help you with the rest."

"Not until after tea time," another voice rings out from the kitchen. "I’ll serve on the veranda. Take a break, gentlemen."

Clark doesn’t grow tired, Dick is too excited to be tired, and Bruce has no reason to be tired, since they don’t let him carry anything heavier than a houseplant, which is ridiculous. But they’re not going to say no to an offer by Alfred, anyway. Even Damian follows the call, eyes still trained on his phone. Outside, the air smells fresh and the sky is blue and clear and promising.

Dick sneaks an arm around his waist as they head to the veranda. Bruce feels the familiar storm of hormones, but he’s getting accustomed to it. He can’t say he minds, really.

"Hey," Dick says, squeezing him playfully. "As long as they’re in there, can we call ‘em the dynamic duo?"

"Don’t make me gag you," Bruce growls, knowing perfectly well they’re going to end up calling them that, anyway.


End file.
